


Hands On

by Leyenn



Category: NCIS
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: "She's a lot like you. Very hands on."Jen finds out early on about Abby and Gibbs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during _The Voyeur's Web_ through _Frame-Up_.

She has her suspicions, the moment he says it. It's the way he says it; the look he gives her as he does. Jenny Shepard knows Jethro Gibbs very well indeed, and she wonders if maybe he's forgotten that, over all these years.

Then again, she thinks, maybe not. Maybe he just wants her to know exactly where everyone stands. Or lies, more to the point.

"She's a lot like you. Very hands on."

The conversation moves on quickly to the case, but she can't help it - now she needs to know.

*

Abby’s not happy about having an assistant, that much is obvious. Abby’s specifically not happy _with her_ , which is also obvious in her voice – Jenny doesn't miss the fact that that _Madam_ is a purposeful barb to stick under her skin. Nevertheless, there’s something guileless about Abby’s displeasure: less spiteful and more as if she's just upset at having to go through the motions of proving Jenny wrong.

She doesn't miss, though, either, how easily Abby reads what Jethro needs as he talks, the way she manipulates the screen exactly on point with his interrogation without a hint of prompting.

Even if - when - Abby comes around to the assistant idea, evidently she doesn't really work entirely alone already, at least when it comes to Gibbs.

*

She invites herself to walk out with him when the case is done. They ride the elevator down to the parking garage together, make small talk - as much as Gibbs ever makes small talk - and she walks with him to his car and watches until he's driving away.

She looks around for Abby's hearse, but it must be already gone.

*

“I read your memo,” Ziva says mildly, leaning up against the rail beside her. When Jenny looks sideways, there's a tiny smirk tugging at the very corner of Ziva's lips. The way she leans forward is relaxed, casual, but Jenny knows better than to be fooled. Ziva David is probably the most dangerous person in the building, and the _probably_ is only because Jethro Gibbs is sitting down in the squad room, fixed like a bloodhound on finding some hint of innocence from a missing man he somehow, for some reason, believes in.

"I'm glad somebody has," she says, smiling back. It's good to work with Ziva again, if only because there's one person besides Jethro she can count on not to call her _Madam_ , and frankly Jethro's choices are even odds of making her even more inclined towards a good old-fashioned keelhauling.

It's been so easy, working with him again. Not exactly _comfortable_ \- but then, that was never exactly part of Jethro's particular appeal. But there's something about the way they work together, always have. The fire might be gone since she's seen him last, and that's all to the good - she doesn't need _that_ complication on top of the Directorship - but the sparks are still there, sometimes warm and sometimes sharp, never quite sure if they're flirting or fighting. If nothing else, it definitely makes life more interesting.

Interesting, like the way Abby bounces up to Jethro's desk in her collar and pigtails and platform boots and starts talking a mile a minute, and the smile that breaks across his lips, just for a moment, that brings back sharp memories of Paris and Moscow and London.

He stands to let her sit, and it's impossible to miss just how close he leans in, one hand on the desk beside her elbow as she types, so close his breath is probably stirring her hair -

"They seem very close," Ziva says, just as mild as before. Jenny fully expects Jethro to look up, radar gaze catching the inference of his name; but no, his eyes are only for Abby and whatever's on his computer screen.

"So I see." The coffee in her hand is getting old, and she could be forgiven for pausing for a long sip while it's still hot.

Ziva looks at her sideways, eyebrow arched. "You don't approve."

"I didn't say anything."

"Perhaps you didn't have to."

She considers that. "Have you noticed anything...?" She can't quite ask it outright, just in case.

Ziva looks back into the squad room. Her voice is carefully level, maybe just a hint of… Is it amusement? Curiosity? Jenny can't tell. Maybe it's just in her imagination anyway. "Is there an NCIS policy against such things?"

She takes another sip of coffee. It's just an excuse to hesitate, to think about exactly _such things_ , and all the reasons why they've always been a bad idea.

But she has to admit, in the end; "Not as such, no," because Gibbs' rules and past experience don't exactly count.

This time Ziva does turn to look at her, a square and even gaze with mischief hiding in her eyes - and this time Jenny definitely isn't imagining it. "Then, no, I have not noticed… any particular thing."

No matter how fooled Tony and McGee might be, Jenny thinks, _she_ knows Ziva has always had a particularly precise way with words.

*

She might be the Director of NCIS now, but she's been an agent and a spy long before that, and Jenny knows how to tail someone without being seen - even, with a huge dose of luck, when that someone is Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

It seems her luck is as good as the rescued Commander Tanner: she spots them quickly over the bar from her chosen corner; in a booth across the room. Abby has her hair down and Jethro has his arm around her shoulders, running his fingers through it. They're both drinking; something on the rocks for Gibbs and beer for Abby, who's drumming her fingers against the bottle to the heavy beat of the music, with half-lidded eyes as she leans her head into the crook of Jethro's shoulder.

Jenny's also been an agent and a spy long enough to know not to hang around once she's got her intel. She puts her empty glass down on a twenty and slips down from her stool without looking back.

*

Gibbs is leaning between the bare ribs of his boat when she walks into the basement. He's wearing a worn grey t-shirt with torn off sleeves and blue sweat pants, a sanding block in one hand, bottle of bourbon uncapped on the workbench behind him.

"You're sleeping with her, aren't you."

He doesn't twitch at the sound of her voice. Of course he doesn't. Just smiles that annoyingly knowing smile without even looking up, carefully sanding another stroke. "Was wondering when you were gonna just ask."

She feels awkward as her heels clip too loudly on the stairs. There's something playing quietly from the wireless behind him as she gets closer, a classic rock station of some kind. "Should I take that as a yes?"

He sighs and does look up, then. "What do you want me to say, Jen?" He straightens up to look her right in the eye: at least he's going to give her that, even if the next words out of his mouth are, "You already know the answer."

"You _do_ know how old-"

The block makes a hard sound as it hits the table. "That's a rookie mistake for you, Jen."

"Forgive me for making a sound observation."

"Abby is not a child."

"She's young enough to be yours," she hears herself say, and it's out of her mouth before she realises just how much of a bitchy ex-girlfriend she sounds. There's a moment of sharp silence - heavy, like anger, or something else.

And then of course, because this is Gibbs, his shoulders relax and he smirks at her, though it isn't in his eyes. "Not quite."

"Hey, Gibbs, do we-"

She turns before he even looks up: the very object of her concern is standing at the top of the basement stairs, hands around the rail, dressed in black jogging pants and a black-and-white striped tank top that shows off her tattoos. Barefoot but still in her collar and dark make-up, hair back up in pigtails the way it was earlier in her lab.

"Oh. Director." She waves the fingertips of one hand. "Hi."

"Jen just dropped by to ask about a case," Jethro says from behind her. An easy lie - far too easily for her liking.

At least, that's what she thinks, until she sees the look that's passing between them, and until Jethro adds, slowly; "A case she's been working on," and Abby's eyes widen just enough to be noticed.

"Oh." Then, with a lot more feeling; " _Oh_. I, um, is, um..." She trails off, takes a breath, tries to start again and fails; bites her lip and lifts her hands instead. The rush of ASL that follows is fast and pretty much indecipherable so she doesn't even try, just looks back to Gibbs -

\- to find him signing something back, slower, a confidence and ease to the movement of his hands that brings to mind something else entirely.

"That is incredibly rude, you know," she says under her breath, trying not to blush or wonder what it is they're saying literally right over her head.

He chuckles and holds up a hand - but this time, beckons with two fingers. Abby smiles a crooked half-smile and comes the rest of the way down the stairs, if a little hesitantly, almost silent on bare feet.

She comes straight to Gibbs, of course. He touches her gently in the middle of her back and kisses her temple. Abby smiles happily and leans into him, but only for a moment before she walks on past, picks up the bourbon and turns out three glass jars on the bench, one after the other like she's doing a magic trick.

Jenny bites her tongue and glares at Jethro.

"You weren't exactly surprised to see me."

Behind him, Abby pours three doubles of bourbon, exactly level. He shrugs. "Nope."

"Ziva told you."

"No, Ziva can keep her mouth shut." He looks pointedly at her then, and her back stiffens.

"I haven't told anyone."

"You haven't been sure until now." He gives her _that look_ , his voice low and fierce. "Just to be clear, Jen? Abby and I are none of anyone's damn business."

She starts to snap back at him: bites it back, if only barely. The last time she was in this basement she was arguing with him, too. About complicated situations. It seems to be a recurring theme and that for some reason makes her laugh, suddenly.

"Drink," Abby says firmly, putting a jar in her hand. Jethro just shoots her a look so smart she wants to knock him on his ass.

Well; she supposes it would be impolite not to, and alcohol is frankly welcome right now, so she does. It's smooth and hot going down - and she can't help but notice, when Abby puts a jar to her own lips, how very little lipstick she's still wearing.

Abby smiles behind the rim of the glass. Jethro takes a sip of his own and spreads his fingers across Abby's hip, smirks at her. "So, staying for dinner, Jen?"

*

She asks Ducky to escort her to the Birthday Ball, not Jethro. Once upon a time she would have asked him without question - with relish, even, knowing that he'd hate every minute of it, except perhaps seeing her in this dress.

He certainly does look appreciative, but she doesn't miss the knowing smile he gives her, either, or the hint of gratitude in it.

*

"I always could read your mind," she says.

He shakes his head with the smallest smile. "Not always, Jen."

**


End file.
